Page 27 of Bane Bloom
Goose bumps pricked my skin as I imagined the small vessel sinking or overturning.
“Do folk not bathe in that great river you have up in London?” asked Thomas.
I looked at him, raising a hand to shield my eyes from the midday sun. How I wished I’d brought my hat. “Some do, in fact. But it’s not clean, like this. Some days the stench is awful.” Sometimes they find bodies.
I watched his unchanging face, and I tried to work up the courage to raise the subject of Mr. Carroll again, or the Bane Bloom, as I’d intended. But the boldness I’d felt at the window had abandoned me. Maybe there’d be a moment when I could bring up these things more naturally.
Thomas had rowed us almost to the lake’s midsection. I didn’t see any other boats, except maybe a small one like ours on the far end, down near the village. If Thomas was as protective of his family’s legacy as I suspected, and if there was a history of mental illness in his family, and a grudge against the Society on top of that . . . well, if he found me inconvenient, this would be a fine opportunity to be rid of me!
Prickly as Thomas was, I wouldn’t have said I felt a sense of danger from him. Yet he was secretive and all but unreadable. I thought about Prudence Bane’s diary. If a crime had possibly been committed, perhaps I’d been justified in reading it. It certainly felt like a less risky way of seeking answers than questioning him directly.
Thomas was watching me. I shifted on the bench and smiled nervously. “Where will you set your net?”
His gaze moved over the surface of the water. The boat had slowly begun to arc around, back the way we’d come. “I’m still working that out.”
Looking toward shore, I noticed where the stream near the house fed into the lake, great stones and low willows crowding the banks there. Spaced out to either side were the tall pines, reminding me of fishermen’s wives watching the sea for their husbands’ return.
“Are there many fish?” I asked.
“A fair number, depending on the season.”
“What kind?”
He rowed several strokes before answering, “Trout and char. Pike, too, in the depths.”
“Pike! Those are great monsters, aren’t they?”
A corner of his lips lifted the tiniest fraction. “Aye, they can be.”
He stilled and then reversed the oaring motion, plowing into the water to stop the boat. He left the oars hanging in the locks as he bent to gather his net, which was piled below his bench. Green glass fishing floats winked in the sunlight as he carefully fed the net into the water. The last float, he held out to me.
“Can you mind that until I say to let it go?”
“All right,” I replied, a note of uncertainty in my voice. I took the float in both hands, holding it over the side where he’d cast the net.
“That’s it,” he said. “Now just hold it still.”
He took up the oars again and slowly maneuvered the boat so that the floats began to spread out in a line.
Once the net was set, we’d return to the house. The opportunity I’d created was slipping away, and I was unlikely to get a better one. Maybe there was a way of asking about my predecessor that wouldn’t feel threatening to Thomas. In my experience, men liked being asked for their opinion.
“Thomas,” I said, “do you think it’s possible that Mr. Carroll is still—”
In that moment the net pulled unexpectedly taut, and I lost my grip on the float.
Without thinking, I made a lurching movement to catch it—just as Thomas shouted, “Leave it, lass!”
The boat lurched, too, as if it had run against a rock. I felt a slap of cold water in my face, and then a hard downward drag as my dress soaked through. I flailed toward the light overhead, but my hand got caught in something.
I saw the bottom of the boat silhouetted against the bright sky. Then a flash of scales as an enormous fish wriggled by right in front of my face.
A stream of bubbles escaped my lips as I let out a cry. Lake water filled my mouth and nose.
Below, I watched my skirt swirl black against the yawning murk.
Fishing
My hand was tugged upward as something stringy tightened around it, biting into my flesh.
